Love Bites
by Midna3452
Summary: To reclaim his winning streak against America in their annual Halloween scaring contest, England decides to try something a bit different this year. By temporarily turning himself into a vampire, he is sure to win. But when he is unable to change back, he-and a few other Nations- are forced to deal with the implications of his new vampiric nature. Eventually a FrUk fic. Please R&R!
1. Part I

**A/N: Just in time for Halloween, I've started another FrUk fanfic! This time, I've jumped on the vampire bandwagon- the type of story I'd been hoping to write for a while now but haven't had any ideas on how to do it. I was recently inspired to write this, so I hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Love Bites**

_**Part I**_

Deep in the basement of an imposing mansion located somewhere along the English countryside, a blonde-haired man with bushy eyebrows was hard at work. Dressed in a drab olive-striped undershirt, white slacks, and a fitted blue, ruffled vest with a high collar and a large bow on the front that showed off his slender frame, he was busily preparing for what was sure to be one of the most satisfying nights of the year: Halloween. Every year, he and his American friend (or son- the line was a bit blurred nowadays) had a scaring contest. He had won hands-down every time for nearly a decade…until the last Halloween when the damn Yankee had used another Nation to scare him to death.

"Hmph!" the blonde Brit huffed, re-living the humiliation in his mind; he had screamed so loudly that people swore they could hear it for miles away. That was the first time he had ever lost, and he declared that it would surely be his last. This year, his plan of attack was a little different. Instead of his usual "have something pop out and scare America" tactic, England had decided that he _himself_ would be the thing that America had to be scared of. Normally, the Brit had to admit that he didn't give of a very terrifying vibe… but with the help of a little spell he had uncovered the other day, he was sure to frighten even the most composed of Americans.

Recently, America had been on somewhat of a zombie-kick, constantly producing movies, books, games, and whatever else you could think of having to do with the undead. However, there was _another_ type of undead being that, until quite recently, had also occupied the minds of most Americans for a number of years. These undead were not rotting at the seams, bumbling through the streets and groaning loudly to announce their arrival; they were silent, handsome creatures of the night that attacked their prey skillfully and swiftly.

Yes, England had decided that this year, he would scare America by becoming a vampire.

Because they had "gone out of fashion," so to speak, he figured that Alfred would be more likely to expect something to do with zombies as opposed to vampires, giving Arthur a slight advantage of surprise. Now, of course, he could just go out to the store and buy a set of fake fangs and some cheap "blood," but England had always been the old-fashioned type; when he planned something big like this, he wanted to do it as authentically as possible. Thus the reason he was currently in his basement/magic room, standing in front of a potion which had taken just a few days to prepare. Once he drank it, his trusty spell book said that he would temporarily be turned into a blood-sucking creature of the night… _temporarily_ being the operative word. His plan was to sneak up on Alfred, make him believe that he was actually going to be attacked by his father-turned-vampire, and then back off at the last second and then reveal that it was only a temporary spell.

Nothing could possibly go wrong, right? Of course not. That's what England told himself as he downed the potion he had been working so hard on these past few days. It had a slightly unpleasant taste, but that was easy to get past. It would supposedly take effect within ten minutes of drinking it. Now, all Arthur had left to do was wait.

He started to clean up the ingredients and put everything back onto its proper shelf. A few minutes into this task, he started to feel a strange tightening in his chest. He paused, knowing that this must be the spell taking effect. His heart felt like it was struggling to keep beating, but despite its best efforts it was slowing down until it was beating at a pace that was too slow for humans to notice; if he was hooked up to a heart machine, he would be pronounced dead on the spot. While this wasn't exactly painful, fortunately, it was still a very unpleasant feeling. This feeling of unease slowly seemed to travel all throughout his body, starting from his heart and branching out in waves, as if the change was mimicking ripples in a pond.

Eventually, the feeling reached his face. This is where things _really_ started to change. England opened his mouth as he felt his canine teeth pulsating with some invisible pressure. Slowly, the tips became pointed and razor-sharp as the teeth themselves extended slightly. They stopped before they would be protruding from England's mouth should he close it, but they were quite noticeable if he smiled. He also became aware that his vision had gotten sharper; despite the fact that the basement was only dimly lit, it suddenly seemed as if overhead lights had been turned on and the whole room was lit up. England could see everything in minute detail, and at a farther range than he had ever been able to before.

As suddenly as it had started, the pulsating feeling stopped. The Brit stayed stock-still for a few seconds, wary of any after-effects that might occur, but thankfully there seemed to be nothing else different. He did notice a very small twinge in his stomach, but it disappeared so quickly that he just passed it off as his body reacting to suddenly being changed into that of a creature of the night. After another few seconds, he stood up straight and walked over to the floor-length mirror standing in the corner of the basement.

England stared at his reflection (despite the common misconception that vampires cannot be seen in the mirror, they _can_ in fact cast reflections) and couldn't help but smirk. For some reason, he felt a huge surge of confidence, like he could do absolutely anything he wanted because, hey, with his new powers, he could probably get away with it. He opened his mouth to inspect his new fangs, lightly touching the tip of one with his index finger. It was so sharp that even this slight pressure was enough to puncture a tiny hole in his finger, and a drop of bright, crimson blood bubbled to the surface.

"Damn!" the Englishman cursed, but it was more out of habit than anything else; surprisingly, he hadn't felt the slightest amount of pain. He guessed that his pain threshold had also increased with the change. Well, that was _one_ good side-effect, at least… Noticing that the drop of blood was about to run down his finger, he quickly licked it off. The taste was quite pleasant, but England quickly shrugged off that thought; despite his current state, he had already vowed before he took the potion that he would _not_ gain the taste for blood while in this form. It would be too dangerous if he actually started drinking blood like a real vampire. He worried that if he enjoyed it too much, he wouldn't want to turn back… A silly thought, really, but he had read about wizards who had had this same experience and had decided to remain one of the undead. He did_ not_ want to become one of them.

Smirking to himself again, basking in this sense of newfound confidence, England was sure that he would scare the pants off of America this time. He turned and grabbed a small blue top hat with a black ribbon going around it. Placing this on his head and grabbing a walking stick that had been resting next to the hat in one swift movement (his reflexes had seemed to improve somewhat as well), he gave himself a last once-over in the mirror and then headed for the door, ready to re-claim his winning streak against the American.

He smiled to himself as he exited the basement and shut the door behind him, running his tongue over his fangs. This was going to be a piece of cake.

* * *

England was still chuckling to himself as he unlocked the door to his house a few hours later. He had certainly achieved his objective; America had been scared to death.

At first, the American had thought it was a joke, of course. He even went so far as to try and pull England's fangs out, because they obviously had to be fake. However, he quickly realized that the undead Brit was the real thing… and that was when he lost it. He had spent the next few minutes going between concern for his father, to horror at what he had become, to declaring that he would protect him from the evil that was himself, and finally to a fear that _he_ was going to be next. He cycled through these emotions a few times before England finally went in for the kill, so to speak- he roughly pushed America against a nearby wall and went for his throat. Despite Alfred's best efforts to break free, amazingly, England's new vampire strength was on-par with America's super-strength, which allowed him to successfully keep him pinned. The Brit got as close as he possibly could without actually sinking his new fangs into his son's neck…and then he abruptly pulled away, laughing.

Naturally, America, who was in tears by this point, was completely confused. After England explained what was really going on, Alfred quickly became furious at making him think that his dear old dad had become one of the undead, and even went so far as to gently punch England on the arm in frustration. Gently in America's terms, which was actually quite hard… but thankfully the Brit didn't feel more than a light tap. Eventually, America had to admit that it had been a good prank, and he let England once again claim another Halloween victory.

And now the Englishman had finally returned home and was ready to go back to his normal self. The spell book said that all he had to do was prepare an antidote (which he had already done ahead of time), and once he took it the vampire effects would wear off within a few hours. The antidote was down in his basement, so after taking off his hat and shoes, that was where he headed off to.

_I'm lucky,_ he thought as he walked down the stairs into the dark room. _I only had just enough of some of those ingredients I needed to make the potion and the antidote… if I was missing something, I wouldn't have been able to turn myself into a vampire and then I wouldn't have been able to scare Alfred! _

He grinned to himself at his luck as he reached the basement door. He reached for the knob, when suddenly a small feeling of worry started gnawing in his gut. He didn't know why or what it was, but he sensed that _something_ was amiss. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced through the opening in-between the basement door and the wall.

Wait- he _always_ made a point to close the basement door every single time he left his magic room…So why was it now slightly ajar? He knew that his faeries and other magical friends wouldn't dare go down there by themselves; they knew that it was far too dangerous to trifle with magic. That must mean that not something, but some_one_ was in England's house, and they were most likely down_ there._

"This is bad…," England muttered quietly, slowly opening the door to the basement. The lights were off, but the Brit paused just as he was about to flip the switch. With his new and improved eyesight, he could see perfectly fine in the darkness…which gave him an advantage over whoever was down there. He could find and catch the intruder before they knew what was happening. As silently as he could, England walked down the concrete stairs and into the blackness- well, blackness for a normal human, but not for the British vampire. He surveyed his surroundings, trying to find any sign of an intruder. Sure enough, he soon noticed movement behind a table to his right. Quickly, he snuck up behind the figure, which seemed to not realize just how close the Englishman had gotten. A split-second later, he had grabbed the figure by the back of the shirt and hoisted him over the table to hold him in the strip of light that spilled into the dark room from the hallway upstairs.

"HEY! NO FAIR! LEMME GO!" yelled a high-pitched voice. England's eyes widened as he got a good look at the small boy in his hands. It was none other than Sealand, his former colony that insisted on proclaiming himself as a Nation. The child was dressed in what looked like a brown shawl that was so long it went past his feet, and he was holding a poorly-drawn mask that was apparently supposed to look like a monster of some sort.

"What the _bloody hell_ are you doing here?!" England yelled, sneering at the little Nation. Sealand's defiant frown quickly turned into an expression of fear as he saw the sharp fangs protruding from the Brit's gums.

"I…I just wanted to sneak in here and scare you!" he replied, struggling to get free, but England had his shirt in an iron grip. He paused his wiggling to glance skeptically at England's teeth. "…Are those real?"

"Do you want to find out?" the Brit asked, smiling wickedly. Sealand yelped and re-doubled his efforts to break out of his grasp. England rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, you idiot you really think I'm going to hurt you? Now _tell me_ before I throw you out of my house- how did you get in here in the first place?!"

"Let me go and I'll tell you!" Sealand yelled, and England laughed derisively.

"I don't think so." He bared his fangs at the boy again. Normally, the gentle-hearted Brit wouldn't _think_ of scaring a child like this… but this was Sealand. Despite his looks, he was older than everyone realized. Plus, he had broken into England's house, something that the emerald-eyed Nation was _not_ pleased about. Also, it was Halloween; what was the harm in having a little fun, anyway?

"I assume you can tell what I am," the Brit said calmly, placing the boy on the ground. However, he made sure not to let him go just yet. Sealand nodded quickly, his eyes wide. England smiled again. "Good. So you know that if you don't do as I say, you might not make it out of here without a set of these for yourself." He tapped one of his fangs, and Sealand let out an almost imperceptible gasp. The boy stood up straighter, trying to appear tough.

"I'm not s-scared of you!" he proclaimed defiantly. However, the waver in his voice said otherwise. England's mouth twitched downward into a slight frown and Sealand gulped. "B-But I'll tell you anyway. I snuck in because I wanted to scare you; to get back at you for always being so mean to me!"

"I assumed that much, at least the first part," the Brit said, rolling his eyes. "What I really want to know is how you got into my house _itself!"_

"My country is an abandoned seaport that's always falling apart; you think I haven't had to pick a lock a few times?!" England sneered at the boy's attitude, making him jump. "I-I wasn't going to steal anything, honest! I just wanted to scare you, like I said!"

"Hmph. That still doesn't give you an excuse for breaking and entering." He stared Sealand straight in the eyes and gave him a fanged grin. This was the last straw for the boy; he suddenly started wiggling around frantically, taking England off-guard, which caused the Brit to accidentally release the tight hold he had on the smaller Nation's shirt. Before he could grab a hold of him again, Sealand shot off to another corner of the room, wanting to get as far away from the vampire as possible.

"Sealand, you little git, this is _not_ a place to run around in!" said vampire growled, angry at himself for letting go before he could throw the boy out of his house. "You could break something!" He started to walk towards Sealand, who instantly ran to another part of the basement, making the taller blonde sigh heavily in agitation.

"Just…just stand right there and I'll walk around you!" Sealand yelled, peeking out from behind a large painting that had been turned on its side. England glared daggers at him.

"Get. Out," he commanded, and the young boy's eyes widened at the harsh tone; England had never sounded _this_ angry before. However, despite his apparent frustration at the boy, the Brit made no move to go after him again. Cautiously, Sealand inched his way out from behind the wooden table and started towards the door. England had to clench his fists by his side to keep himself from going after the child again; while he could have easily grabbed him and put him out by this point, the boy was currently right next to the table on which the antidote for the vampire spell was resting. One sudden bump could shake the table and send the thin, glass vial full of red liquid toppling over.

The emerald-eyed Brit stood there as patiently as he could; just a few more steps, and then Sealand would be clear of the table and England could make a grab for him. Suddenly, there was a large crash from outside the room; it sounded like one of the magical beings roaming around the house had knocked something over. The noise made the vampire look towards the door at the same time it made the little Nation jump. This in turn made Sealand smash into the table with such force that all of the bottles and jars on top of it shook violently. England quickly turned back at the table just in time to see the bottle of antidote rock a bit too far to one side and topple over…spilling the entire antidote onto the table.

"_No!"_ the vampire screamed, rushing over to the table. He frantically scrabbled against the wooden surface, trying in vain to get the red liquid back into the vial, but it was no use; it had already either been absorbed into the wood or had spilled over onto the concrete floor. The Brit stared open-mouthed at the remnants of the antidote; it was his only chance to return back to a human… and Sealand had just spilled it all.

Sealand. England quickly turned towards the boy, who was so terrified that he was nearly hyperventilating. The vampire snarled and the younger Nation instantly yelped and made a dash for the door. However, with his speed the Brit was able to once again grasp his collar in an iron grip. He lifted the boy up into the air so that he was at eye-level with him.

"Do you know what you've just _done?!"_ he growled, and Sealand shook his head, wiggling around frantically.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. England, Sir!" the boy cried, his voice cracking. The elder Nation's grip wasn't loosening at all. "I d-didn't mean to spill that! I'll r-replace it, I promise! J-just please let me go!"

"It can't _be_ replaced right now," the vampire hissed. "I don't have the _ingredients_ to replace it! It will take me _weeks,_ possibly _months_ to get what I need!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. Obviously, it was all the younger Nation's fault, but blaming him would get England nowhere. Slowly, he let Sealand down so that his feet touched the floor, but he didn't let go of his shirt just yet.

"A-Are you gonna bite me?!" Sealand asked in a small, frightened voice. England heaved a sigh and met the small boy's wide gaze.

"I already told you that I wouldn't hurt you, didn't I?" he said, and Sealand nodded cautiously. "And I'm not a man to break my word. But I hope you learn to watch what you're doing and to _not sneak into people's bloody houses and scare them!_ You have caused me a _lot_ of trouble; _much_ more than you realize! The next time you do something like this, I will _not_ be so forgiving. Do you understand me, Peter Kirkland?"

"Y-yes, Sir!" Sealand squeaked, nodding vigorously. England stared him down, trying to burn his message into the boy's mind. After a few seconds, he sighed again and released his shirt.

"Get out of here," he commanded, pointing to the door. "And don't you _dare_ try to come in without my permission _again."_

"Yes, Sir! I'm sorry!" the boy said quickly, and then he bolted towards the doorway. England listened as his footsteps went up the stairs, down the hallway, and then disappeared as the front door opened and closed. The Brit waited for a moment to make sure that all was quiet, and then he looked at the table again.

"Bloody hell…," he muttered, picking up a piece of the broken vial. He hissed as he accidentally sliced his finger against the edge of the fragment. He instinctively licked off the drop of blood that welled up from the cut, and then he shivered; it had tasted too good for his liking.

"God, I wonder how long I'm going to be stuck like this," he wondered aloud, quickly placing the glass back on the table. He knew that those ingredients he needed could take quite a while to get there. The emerald-eyed Nation ran a stressed hand through his hair and took a calming deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so.

"Okay, I can do this," he told himself. He spared one last glance at the remnants of his antidote and then made a beeline for the doorway out of the basement. He had some calls to make, and he needed to make them immediately. The longer he delayed, the longer it would take for him to get his humanity back. As he went up the stairs, he ran his tongue over his fangs; he couldn't wait to get rid of them, and the hunger that came with them, as soon as possible. But, unfortunately that would take a bit longer than he had originally anticipated.

He would just have to make due until then.

* * *

**A/N: This story will be at least 3 parts, so keep your eyes peeled! Please let me know what you think as well! **


	2. Part II

_**Part II**_

_Two weeks later…_

The crystal-blue-eyed man walked up to the front door of the imposing British mansion, a small smile curving up his thin, handsome lips. He had a dark brown satchel hanging over his shoulder and he was wearing black shoes that weren't quite dress shoes but were much nicer than sneakers, dark blue jeans, and a loose, salmon-colored button up. Because it was getting towards the latter part of the fall season, he also had on a light brown coat and a red scarf wrapped around his neck to keep the worst of the chill at bay. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and knocked on the large wooden door, listening to the sound echo through the air for a few seconds before it was drowned out by the wind.

"_Angleterre?"_ the blonde called out in a thick, French accent. He smiled a bit wider; it felt good to say that name. He hadn't used it in quite a while. It felt like _years_ since the Frenchman had seen his British gentleman… Of course, in reality it had only been a few months; their last World Meeting had been in September. However, it didn't usually take this long before the two European Nations made contact. Despite their apparent dislike of each other, the two men seemed unable to keep themselves from bothering each other.

The Frenchman frowned when he got no response after a few minutes of waiting. He knocked and called out again, thinking that the Englishman must not have heard him the first time. However, his inquiry was once again met by nothing but silence. This was certainly out of the ordinary; even though Arthur never _wished_ for a visit from Francis, he would at least dignify him with some sort of rude send-off through the door, usually until the taller blonde managed to somehow convince the Englishmen to let him inside. But today, there was nothing.

France was starting to wonder if the Brit was out. He glanced towards his driveway and saw that his car was still parked in its normal spot right next to the house. Because he lived in the countryside, it would take England quite a while to get to town if he walked, so he never traveled on foot. This meant that either someone had come to pick him up (a rare occasion, seeing as he wasn't the most social of fellows), or he was hiding out in his house for some unknown reason. This called for some investigating.

Smirking slightly, France bent down and reached under the small flowerpot at his feet. If his memory served him correctly, England always kept a spare key under there in case he locked himself out (which happened more than the Brit would care to admit). Sure enough, France soon grasped a small, cool metal object. He replaced the pot to its original position next to the door and stepped up to the lock, sliding the key in with little difficulty. He knew that England would probably have a fit that France let himself in, but he couldn't blame the Frenchman for being concerned, now could he?

This was the logic that ran through France's mind as he slowly opened the door and walked into the grand foyer of the other Nation's house. He closed the door behind him, still holding the spare key in his hand, and looked around, frowning.

"_Angleterre?"_ he called again, noticing that the house was uncharacteristically dark. Not only were all the blinds closed, but there were only a few candles lit here and there to provide the minutest light to see by. France had to strain his eyes to see even a few feet in front of him. He slipped his bag off and placed it on the floor, and then he took of his coat and scarf, hanging them on the coat rack next to the door. Carefully, his hands outstretched in front of him, he began to walk forwards, wondering where in the world his England could be in this dark house.

* * *

_Shit,_ England thought, peering around the corner of the entrance to the living room. He _knew_ he should have moved that spare key under the flowerpot… He had just never thought that someone, let alone _France_ of all people, would come calling so soon. He still hadn't been able to finish the antidote; the ingredients he needed were in-transit, and they wouldn't expected to arrive for another week at least. England had steeled himself to the fact that he would have to deal with this body for a little while longer. He would be perfectly fine, as long as he could stay holed-up in his house. There, in the quiet darkness, it was easy for him to ignore the gnawing hunger in his stomach that screamed out for him to satiate it.

But then France had to show up. The taller blonde wasn't even next to him, but the mere presence of someone, another human soul nearby, was enough to send a spike of adrenaline coursing through the Brit's vampiric body. He had heard the Frenchman come to the door, of course; he had been standing right in the foyer as the accented voice had called out for him. Even though he despised Francis (or so he claimed to anyone that asked), he couldn't help the strong urge to open the door and let him in, if only for some sort of human contact. The Brit had been living in a black hole, literally and figuratively, for the past two weeks; his magical friends had long-since stopped coming near him. They still checked up on him every few days, and England could sometimes feel their small eyes on his back as he wandered aimlessly around his house, waiting for the ingredients to arrive so that he could finally leave this personal hell-hole of his… But they refused to come near him.

Which was probably best for everyone; barely a few days after his transformation, England had had a small breakdown of nerves and had lunged at Flying Mint Bunny, who had come up next to him to comfortingly nuzzle his best friend's neck. The poor rabbit had barely, but thankfully, escaped the vampire's grasp, although he had lost a few wing feathers in the process. The Nation had immediately regretted this, of course, but he and all of his magical friends had then agreed that it was best if they keep out of his way until he was healed.

And that was also when England decided to lock himself up in his house until he was able to cure himself. If he had already made a move towards his innocent little Flying Mint Bunny, there was no telling what he would do to a _human_. Even though his mindset was still that of a human, his body was now that of a vampire… and the instinct to feed was extremely strong. It had gotten worse over the past two weeks, but England had been able to ignore it. But now… there was a human standing right in his foyer. And not just any human- another Nation. There was no telling what the consequences would be should anything befall France… England had to get him out of the house as soon as possible.

"_Angleterre?"_ the Frenchman called, having already put his stuff down by the door and started to walk forwards. While the dim candlelight was ideal for England's sensitive eyes, it was obvious that Francis was having trouble by the way his hands were thrust out in front of him, feeling for anything he might accidentally run into. England narrowed his eyes; France seemed to be searching for something. He began to feel along the wall, lightly brushing his fingers against paintings and pictures, nearly tripping over a table at one point. Finally, his hand settled on something and he stood up straighter as his thin fingers grasped at it. England realized what it was a split-second too late.

"BLOODY HELL!" he screamed as Francis flicked the light-switch, instantly flooding the foyer with bright light. He sat down, scrunched his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his knees; he hadn't had the lights on since Halloween night, since he was much more comfortable in the near-darkness, and the sudden brightness was too much for him. He stayed huddled in a ball even as he felt a presence kneel down by his side.

"_Mon amour, _are you alright?!" England heard the Frenchman ask as he placed one of his hands gingerly against England's back, as if afraid that the Brit would startle at the touch. Said man sighed and kept his face buried; what the hell was he supposed to do?! He couldn't let France know what he had become… the whole point of him holing up in his house was so that people wouldn't find out! And now this damn idiot just _had_ to come and ruin it… Although, if he tried hard enough and managed to get France out of his house fairly quickly, he _might_ just be able to save face. The question was: how exactly would he _get_ Francis out?

"I-I'm fine, you git!" England snapped, shifting his back so that France's hand was no longer touching it. However, he still didn't pick his head up. When he spoke, his tongue had run over the two canine teeth that were currently protruding from his upper gums… that would be a hard thing to give an explanation for. But he couldn't just sit in a ball and hope that Francis would leave, either. "Just leave me alone!"

"_Non,_ I came all this way to see if you were alright! I'm not just going to leave!" Francis responded. England sighed; of course. There was no way it would be _that_ easy to get rid of him. Slowly, he lifted his head up, keeping one hand over his mouth. Francis was staring at him with a concerned expression etched across his handsome face. England mentally scolded himself; France was not "handsome," he was… aggravating, and that was it.

"Why were you sitting in the dark, _mon cher?"_ the Frenchman asked, reaching out a hand towards the Brit. Said emerald-eyed man slapped the offered hand away and glared over his knees.

"Because I can, Frog," he snapped, not in the mood to chat. France frowned; the Englishman had always been a bit… brusque, to say the least, but it was very unlike him to insist on hiding his face.

"Are you sick?" the long-haired blonde questioned, but England merely shook his head. France sighed and gave him a soft smile. "The why won't you show me your beautiful face, _mon amour?"_

The Brit quickly buried his face further into his knees to hide the blush that has instantly started to spread across his pale cheeks at France's question. Though he hated more than anything to admit it, sometimes the Frenchman's words sent shivers down his spine. He didn't want to think that he could possibly be falling for the man that had despised for centuries upon centuries… but these days, he was never quite certain _where_ his feelings lied. Yes, they had spent a few scattered nights together in the past, but those were only short flings with no meaning attached to them (usually involving heavy intoxication on both parts).

However, over the past few decades, England has slowly started to notice that France was no longer merely trying to get into his pants; the romantic Nation seemed, in an odd way, to be trying to woo the Brit instead. Sort of like a modern-day Romeo with a lot more roses and frilly clothes.

_But look where _they_ ended up,_ the Englishman told himself every time these thoughts began to cross his mind. It would be a horrible idea to return the Frenchman's affections. Not only did intimate relationships between Nations usually end badly, but England would never be able to live it down if, after vehemently denying any sort of affections for France, it was revealed that he really _did_ care for the ice blue-eyed Nation. He was afraid of being labeled as "easy" and he was afraid of other bigger, stronger Nations than he using this opportunity to take him down once and for all. But mostly… he was afraid of hurting this surprisingly sensitive man more than he already had.

This inner dilemma was running through England's head as France gazed at him worriedly, the blonde's ice-blue eyes showing nothing but concern. Even if the Englishman never returned his affections, France still couldn't help but worry. He had known for a long time that he was in love with Britain, but he had only just recently (in Nation terms, which meant quite a few decades) found the proper way to show it that wouldn't send the green-eyed man running for the hills at the mere sight of him.

"_Angleterre, qu'est-ce que c'est?"_ France questioned, automatically slipping into his native tongue. Though he knew that England could understand him whether he spoke English or French, he always tried his best to speak the other's language in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable. Knowing how particular England was about everything, France thought that anything he could to do make their encounters just a little bit easier would help his chances.

"Nothing," England mumbled, peering over his knees again, seeming not to notice nor care about France's change of speech. "Go away."

"That's not an answer, _mon_ _cher_… Won't you tell me what's wrong?" England's emerald eyes narrowed; the stupid Frog just didn't seem to get it.

"I'm. Fine," he replied through clenched teeth. France merely frowned back at him.

"I am going to sit here until you tell me what's the matter," the Frenchman said, adjusting his position so that he was now sitting Indian style, facing the aggravated Brit. England attempted to burn a hole through the annoying blonde with his gaze, but it had no effect; the other Nation simply crossed his arms in front of him and waited.

England heaved a huge sigh. He really, _really _didn't want to have to reveal his current state to anyone, especially not to _France_ of all people…but it seemed like he had no other choice at this point. Obviously, the other man wasn't going to leave his side until he got some sort of explanation.

"Just… wait until I explain before you overreact, alright?" the Englishman told him reluctantly. A worried crease formed between the Frenchman's eyebrows, but he nodded and kept his mouth shut. England stared at him for another moment, hoping that he would change his mind at the last second and decide to leave, but of course that wasn't going to happen. Cautiously, he lifted his head up so that France could get a view of his entire face.

"On Halloween, I had a little…incident," he admitted. He tried to keep his mouth as closed as possible, but it was impossible to totally hide the canines that were so prominently visible. France's frown deepened what he caught a glimpse of the flash of white that should not have been in the Englishman's mouth under normal circumstances.

"An…incident?" the Frenchman repeated, and England nodded, looking guiltily at the floor.

"Remember how America and I have that contest going on where we try to out-scare each other?" France inclined his head, trying to figure out what was wrong with his love's mouth. "Did America tell you how I won this year?"

"He mentioned that you won but _non_, he never said _how_ exactly you did it," the blue-eyed blonde repeated, his brow still furrowed. England let out a small sigh and glanced up through his eyelashes, trying his best to look France in the eye and avoid eye-contact at the same time; he couldn't believe that he was being forced to reveal such a serious magical blunder to someone.

"Well, you know how he goes through phases of what he's most interested and sometimes scared of?" he asked, and France nodded. "A few years ago, he was extremely entranced by vampires, so…"

"Oh, _Angleterre_, you didn't…," France tried his best not to groan. He didn't want to believe that the Brit would be naive enough to go for his love of authenticity on this occasion… but he knew that this was indeed the case when England finally opened his mouth.

"I wanted to make myself as believable as possible," he said, giving France a wry, fanged smile. The Frenchman's eyes widened at the flash of white canines. "And, well… I turned myself into a vampire."

* * *

**A/N: As much as I love working on this story, I don't know when I'll get to put up the next part due to finals rapidly approaching. I definitely have plans to continue this story, but the next part might not be up for a bit. Please keep an eye out for it! :)**


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